


Her Name is Sigrid

by anaraine



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is named for wisdom, beauty, and victory - a name chosen by her mother as her father is too besotted to provide any useful input.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Name is Sigrid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loch_ness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loch_ness/gifts).



> A treat for the rarewomen fic exchange! Sort of pre-[A Good Older Sister](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1564739), but it can stand on its own.

She is born on the sixteenth of Ringarë, just after the sun has started to sink beneath the horizon. Her first breath is a quiet one, and she is swiftly bathed with warm water and bundled in soft blankets before being returned to her mother.

She is named for wisdom, beauty, and victory - a name chosen by her mother as her father is too besotted to provide any useful input. She is the first born child of Bard and Frida, born on the waters of Laketown in the coldest month of the year, and yet she _thrives_.

Her name is Sigrid.

**◊◊◊**

Sigrid is a quiet child. Bard worries when the midwife tells him that her silence bodes ill, but Frida laughs and says Sigrid will speak when she has something she would like to say. Sigrid is not dimwitted, like the midwife would have him believe - and that any nonsense he hears about the bad luck his first born brings by being a daughter instead of a son should be ignored.

Bard is not entirely reassured by his wife's cheerful disposition, but he cannot deny that Sigrid is smart. She is walking before she has reached a year of age and she is never shy about getting their attention in ways that do not require her voice. Her interest in the world around her is blatant and somewhat of a chore, as it seems she is deliberately finding new ways to make a mess in the shortest amount of time possible.

It is not uncommon to find her covered in flour or surrounded by old consignment forms that have been ripped and mangled. But she smiles so sweetly when he finds her amid the wreckage, raising her arms in a silent request for him to pick her up. Bard can't do anything but fall in love with his little girl all over again.

Frida is right, he tells himself. Sigrid will speak when she is ready to.

**◊◊◊**

Sigrid is not pleased when she is shut out of her mother's birthing room. She throws her wooden toys against the closed door in protest, but she does not cry out.

Bard is heartsick with worry - the midwife has told him that his child is fine and well-formed, but also distressingly large for a woman of Frida's size. That is what fuels his decision to keep Sigrid from being present. If the worst should happen, he does not want her to watch her mother die.

Under the midwife's stern eyes, Bard follows all of her directions in hope that it will give his wife the best chance at survival. He is exhausted when his second child wails his first hello to the world, but knows he can't even begin to imagine how tired Frida must be.

His beautiful, strong wife is glowing with happiness as her son is handed back to her, smiling as if she hadn't spent the last hour screaming in pain. The midwife bustles about the room, cleaning away the soiled bedding and trying to make Frida more comfortable while Bard takes a deep breath of relief.

"Sigrid," Frida calls hoarsely, and Bard stands to fetch his daughter when the girl in question steps from a shadowed corner of the room, startling both him and the midwife.

Sigrid rushes to the bed and stands on the tips of her toes, bracing herself against the bed frame to better see her new brother.

"How long have—" Bard starts to ask, only to be interrupted by his wife.

"Do you want to greet your brother?" Frida asks. There is no demand in her tone, just a gentle suggestion.

"Hello, Bain," Sigrid says dutifully, her words clear and sure.

Bard's mouth drops open in shock, which is nothing compared to the clatter the water basin makes when it falls from the midwife's hands.

Frida smiles. "You're going to be such a good older sister, Sigrid."


End file.
